Children of the Plains

Chapter 10

A strange and ominous calm hung over the banks of the Thon-Thalas. Cold river water, collected in the mountains to the west, chilled the warm summer air, creating patches of mist slowly flowing along with the current. Half of Karada’s band, almost two hundred-fifty men and women of fighting age, crouched in the bushes a pace or two from the water’s edge. Further up the hill, the rest of the plainsmen waited on horseback, their position screened by a hedge of freshly cut saplings.

Now and then a horse snorted or tried to eat the tender leaves of the camouflage just in front of them. Karada glowered at these indiscretions, and the riders quieted their mounts quickly.

Pakito came up the hill, moving with remarkable stealth for a man his size. He’d been appointed to lead the warriors on foot, partly because of his great strength, but also because they had no horse that could carry him.

He ascended by way of a path carefully screened with vines and replaced undergrowth. When he reached the hedge Pakito waved to his chief.

“Any sign?” she whispered.

“They were at the deer ford last night,” Pakito replied huskily. “Our scouts counted thirty-two rafts, sixteen with warriors, ten for horses, and the rest laden with supplies.”

Karada nodded, satisfied. The elves never traveled without what seemed to plainsmen like copious, unnecessary supplies — food, tents, tools, and assorted mysterious gear whose purpose was known only to elves. Their equipment allowed them to do many things the plainsmen couldn’t, but carrying it also slowed them down. Karada intended to exploit this weakness to the fullest.

“Go back to the river,” she told Pakito. “Make ready. They’ll be here about dawn.”

He grinned widely. “I wouldn’t want to be an elf this morning!”

“I wouldn’t be an elf ever,” she muttered, dismissing him. Pakito hurried back down the path to his waiting men.

Gradually the violet pre-dawn gave way to the rose of daybreak. Karada took off her heavy headband and wiped her forehead. The band was made of bear teeth, bored through and strung together on a backing of black ox hide. Her people had contributed all the bear’s teeth gathered in a year’s hunting to make the headband for Karada. She clenched it tightly in her hand as if to take the power and ferocity of the bears into her own spirit.

A distinctive three-note whistle rose from the riverbank. The signal! The elves were in sight!

Karada replaced her headband and drew the sword she’d taken from the elf Tamanithas so many years ago. All along the line the mounted warriors stirred restlessly. She glared them into silence again.

Through the leafy hedge she spied the first raft. It was a square platform of logs lashed together, about two paces by four. A crowd of twenty elf warriors stood in the center of the raft while bare-chested rafters walked back and forth along both sides, pushing the craft along by means of long wooden poles. Mist on the river parted in front of them. The raft moved slowly down the center of the stream, making deliberate progress against the current.

Karada and her scouts had reconnoitered the Thon-Thalas for eight leagues in both directions and had picked this spot as the place the elf expedition would likely disembark. The riverbank was wide and firm here. Farther south the banks were too steep, and farther west the current was too swift for poling. This was the spot and no other.

A shout, and the rafters reversed their poling pattern. Karada flexed her fingers around her reins. With much scrambling, the pole-carriers collected on the left side and in unison drove their poles hard into the water. The awkward craft nosed for shore.

No sooner had the hewn ends of the logs touched the bank than the elf warriors sprang ashore with weapons drawn. They formed a line, their chief shouting a series of commands. They moved inland a few paces, poking the underbrush with their spears and swords. Karada held her breath.

Her warriors were not far from where the sharp bronze points probed. She knew her fighters would keep cool. They were as much afraid of her and Pakito as they were the elves, but she worried the elves would discover the trap before it was ready to spring.

The elf chief called a halt, assembling his troop at the water’s edge. The rafters pushed their craft away and made room for the next one. It too was loaded with armed warriors. These filed off and awaited the next raft.

Karada shaded her eyes from the morning sun and looked downriver. The expedition was piling up, the rafts bumping each other. The current was just strong enough to require constant effort to keep the rafts in place. As she expected, the warriors were concentrated in the first rafts. After them came the horses; the supplies would be landed last. By then the river would be a solid, chaotic mass of rafts, balky animals, and struggling rafters. That would be the time to attack.

And so it happened. Elf warriors filled the dry ravine leading from the river’s edge to the open plain above. It was the obvious, easy place for them to muster once they’d left their rafts. They stood alertly for a time, watching the trees with disconcerting intensity, but as the morning grew hot and nothing happened they began to grow careless. Some even took off their helmets and sat down on the mossy ground.

The last of the three hundred and sixty warriors came ashore, and the first raft of horses nosed forward. Pens had been erected on the rafts to keep the animals in order. Karada was glad to see the horses arrive. Their smell covered the odor of her band’s horses.

An elf on the front of the first raft of horses threw a line to waiting comrades on shore. Four elves took hold and hauled the raft in. Empty troop rafts bumping against them made the process awkward and tedious.

Karada gave a signal. It was relayed down the line, and a gray object, a little bigger than a man’s head, was tossed out of the trees to land at the feet of the four elves pulling in the horse barge. In an instant wasps spilled out of the gray object and attacked the rafters. Yells and much slapping ensued, and some of the unfortunates threw themselves in the river. Warriors nearest the shore stood and laughed at their comrades’ ill luck.

They stopped laughing as three more wasps’ nests landed among them. A lordly chieftain, recognizable by his elaborate helmet and fur-trimmed mantle, drew his sword and pointed at the trees where Pakito’s men were hiding. One nest might be a misfortune; four constituted an attack.

The elves formed ranks even as the wasps swarmed over them. Karada had to admire their discipline under such conditions. She doubted even fear of her would keep her own band steady under such an onslaught.

More nests were lobbed at the horse rafts. Crazed by the stings, the horses burst their flimsy pens and floundered into the river. Rafters were thrown down when the animals swamped the log platforms. Soon the river was filled with elves and horses. Over all hung a cloud of angry black wasps.

The front ranks of the elf force stormed up the bank to Pakito’s position. The giant plainsman stood up and roared defiance at the enemy. He had painted his face with white clay, soot, and berry juice. When Pakito was joined by two hundred and fifty comrades, the charging elves wavered and stopped, but only for a moment. The rear ranks flung javelins at the wildly painted enemy, and Pakito’s men replied with their last batch of wasps’ nests.

Karada wanted to cheer when she saw Pakito holding his men in place. Plainsmen all too often wanted to rush their foes, yelling and waving their spears. A headlong rush would strike terror into the hearts of most foes, but the elves were too well trained to succumb to panic. This time Pakito, holding his people firm, forced the elves to climb the slope. All the while the plainsmen pelted their enemy with rocks and heavy splits of wood.

The line of elves extended past the plainsmen’s position, so those on the extreme right broke formation and ran to hit Pakito’s men on the flank. When they did, they exposed their backs to Karada’s hidden horsemen. She raised her sword high. The eye of every horseman was on her. Wordlessly she whipped her blade down and urged her mount forward.

From the river it appeared as though a wall of mounted human warriors had burst through the trees, and a wail of confusion went up from the elves.

Karada charged ahead, running one elf down and impaling another with her sword. The shocked troops tried to turn to counter her attack. As they did Pakito let loose his bull-like battle cry, and the humans fighting on foot surged down the hill.

The trap was sprung, and the fight quickly became fierce. Karada laid about her on every side, trading blows with any elf in reach. A javelin flew at her face. She batted it aside, but an elf came up close on her right and upended her by grasping her foot and heaving her off her horse. She landed heavily in the trampled ferns and rolled quickly away to avoid being stepped on by her own animal. Rising, she was immediately attacked by a sword-armed elf. They traded cuts. He was trained in this art, and Karada was not. She received a ringing blow on the side of the head. Her bear’s tooth headband saved her life, but she went down hard, losing her weapon.

Karada scrambled to her feet, snatched up an elven spear, and fought her way to her comrades. She climbed atop a stump and saw that most of the elves had been pushed back to the river. Some had been driven into the water, and others clambered onto empty rafts. Bundles of javelins were being passed hand over hand from the supply rafts to where the battle raged. Karada decided to put a stop to that.

She rallied sixteen mounted plainsmen and ordered one to give up her mount to the chief. The woman climbed down. It was Samtu, who’d brought the dragon-man to camp not long ago.

“Take care of Appleseed,” Samtu said, handing the reins to Karada.

“No promises,” the chief replied. “Warriors, with me!”

They swung away from the main fight and galloped down the riverbank. The elven rafts had bunched together, filling the river from side to side. Without a word of explanation or warning, Karada rode to the water’s edge and urged her horse to leap. The horse sprang and landed solidly on one of the rafts. The craft bobbed hard, causing Appleseed to scramble for footing, but the animal kept his feet and Karada kept her balance too.

She speared a rafter who tried to fend her off with his pole. Two other elves tore into the bundle of javelins they’d been trying to pass, seeking to free some to use against Karada. She slid off Appleseed and killed them both before they could get weapons in their hands.

By now many elves were standing in water up to their knees. The rearmost ranks were climbing across rafts to reach the south shore. The plainsmen higher up on the bank, with no one left to fight, began throwing stones or javelins at the fleeing enemy. The last rafts in the convoy, the ones laden with the expedition’s supplies, began to retreat. Rafters poled frantically downstream, eager to escape the ferocious onslaught.

“Go!” Karada shouted after them. “Go! Come no more to our land!”

Her triumph was cut short by a blast of noise — the sound of ram’s horns. Startled, she remounted Appleseed and rode to the shore. The rumble of massed hooves filled the air.

A cry rose from the throats of the elves on the riverbank. “Balif! Balif!”

She couldn’t believe it. Balif, the elf lord who’d captured her on the beach so many years ago? She led the remaining mounted plainsmen up the draw, reining up when she reached the edge of the plain. What she saw brought a lump to her throat.

Elves, hundreds and hundreds of them, all on horseback. Sunshine glinted off their bronze lances. Two standards waved in the breeze over this magnificent host — the first was the hated emblem of Silvanos; the second, a device Karada didn’t recognize. It was a narrow pennant of bright blue, slashed with slanting red and black bars.

The band behind her milled about uncertainly. There were no more than one hundred and fifty plainsmen on horseback to receive the charge of five hundred or more elves. Samtu, now astride another horse, worked her way to Karada’s side.

“We can’t stand against that!” she cried.

Karada looked back at Pakito’s force on foot, still fighting the few elves left at the river. “If we don’t, Pakito and all those with him will die!”

She ordered her horsemen to group together in a tight circle. At a deliberate trot, they rode away from Pakito, crossing toward the approaching elf host. As Karada hoped, she drew the elven army’s attention away from the vulnerable plainsmen on foot.

“Ready?” she called to her band. “If we die, we die free!”

The plainsmen managed a cheer, but it sounded hollow. Karada took her place in the front rank of horsemen and put aside her sword in favor of her old short-handled spear, which she always carried slung on her back. She was just about to order the charge when a surprising movement among the elf riders stopped her.

The block of five hundred riders turned to the right in one simultaneous movement. It was then Karada and her followers saw that behind the mass of elf warriors was another army of equal size. This army turned their horses left on command, revealing a third contingent.

The plainsmen sat and gaped. None of them had ever seen so many elves at once, much less so many armed, mounted elves. The rear of Karada’s band fell apart, warriors galloping away as fast as they could. Karada pushed her way through the ranks, yelling and striking her own men with the shaft of her spear.

“Cowards!” she raged. “Craven dogs! Where are you going?”

“We are lost!” they cried, scattering out of her reach.

She saw Sessan, one of her best horsemen, urging his comrades to follow him, retreating to safety. Karada screamed curses at him, damning him for his treachery.

“We’ll fight another day!” Sessan whirled, declaring, “Die if you want, Karada, but don’t expect us to die for nothing!”

She reversed her grip on her spear and made ready to hurl it at Sessan. Samtu rode up beside her and tried to stay her hand. Blind with fury, Karada slashed at her comrade. Whitefaced, Samtu dropped her sword and rode away.

In scant minutes Karada was alone, facing fifteen hundred elf warriors. Her anger burned itself out, leaving her surprisingly calm in the face of imminent death. She wrapped her reins tightly around her fist and thumped her bare heels against Appleseed’s ribs, and the horse cantered through the bloody grass toward the foe. When the gap had closed to thirty paces — javelin range — Karada stopped to savor her last breath of life.

Facing her was a splendidly outfitted band of elite outriders in sky-blue mantles. Twenty strong, they wore tall bronze helmets and carried round shields, burnished until they shone like gold. The shields bore the emblem of the sun, the symbol of Silvanos’s throne.

In the midst of these magnificent warriors she spotted one elf flanked by standard bearers and another, older elf in civilian clothes. The younger elf was clad in a gilded breastplate and plumed helmet, greaves, and a brilliant blue cape. She recognized him. It was Balif, her old enemy.

From under the visor of his helmet Balif saw a lone human on horseback, confronting his entire host. Her gray chaps were streaked with blood, and a barbarous headdress of yellow teeth held down a mane of sun-bleached hair. When Balif finally realized who this human was, he couldn’t help himself. He smiled.

The line of elves stood still behind him, awaiting the order to attack. Instead of launching his whole force at Karada, Balif rode out followed only by four standard bearers.

Karada raised her spear.

“Hold!” Balif shouted. “Do not throw your life away with that spear!”

“My life is mine,” she shouted back. “I’ll do with it as I please!”

Balif reined up an arm’s length away. “Greetings, Nianki.”

“You remember me.”

“How could I forget?” He looked past her as the last of her mounted warriors disappeared over the hills. “You seem to have run out of army.”

“They were unworthy.”

“I don’t think so. Your band has wrought great havoc in the south, burning outposts. They simply know when not to fight.” Balif pulled off his helmet and cradled it in front of him. Wind caught his long blond hair. “I give you leave to withdraw, Nianki.”

She shook her head. “Never.”

“Your life will be spared if you go.”

“A few elf lives too, I reckon, but I won’t live by your charity.”

“I have only to raise my hand and you’ll be trampled into the weeds.”

“So what’s stopping you?” she replied harshly. “Are you afraid to fight me in single combat?”

Balif laughed. “You’re a strange foe, Nianki!” he said. “Your bravery here today confounds the claim that humans are merely grunting savages who deserve nothing better than to be driven from the plain. You’re resourceful, gallant, and have a certain rough grace.”

“If you truly believed what you say, you would not persist in driving us from the land,” she told him.

He shrugged. “I think there is room for all. Unfortunately, mine is but one voice. There are many in my lord’s council who prefer to exterminate humans rather than live with them.” With a little shake of his head, he recalled himself to the current situation. In a loud voice he declared, “Withdraw, Nianki.”

“I offered you single combat,” she said grimly. “Do you refuse?”

“So you did. Yes, I’ll fight you, if you wish.”

One of his retainers cried out, “No, my lord, you cannot!”

“This barbarian is no honorable opponent!” said another.

“I’ll stake my life on this human’s honor,” he said curtly. “Stand back, and do not interfere.”

The unhappy standard bearers turned their animals back and rode slowly to the waiting elf host. Balif drew his sword and slung his bright golden shield over his shoulder.

“Since you have no shield, it would be unfair of me to use mine,” he explained.

“Use whatever you like,” Karada replied. She shifted her spear from an overhand, throwing position to an underhand thrusting grip. “Hah!” she cried, urging Appleseed forward.

Balif likewise launched his mount into motion. They met with a loud clang of metal and stone. A shout went up from the elf army.

The fine flint head of Karada’s spear showed a deep chip where Balif’s bronze blade struck it. Another blow and the flint would shatter.

Karada shifted her grip to present more of the hardwood shaft and lunged again. His sword hilt slammed into her jaw. Dazed, she raked her spear upward, opening a jagged cut on his forehead, below the rim of his helmet. Balif caught her spear arm with his free hand, pinning it back, and brought his sword down hard on Karada’s shoulder. Her wooden armor saved her from a serious wound, but it fell apart as the sharp edge of the elven blade cut the thongs holding it together. Karada twisted her horse around to shield her exposed side, then she hit Balif in the chest with the butt of her spear. He grunted, falling backward off his horse.

Unbidden, the elf army surged forward, eager to save their stricken commander. Balif jumped to his feet and waved them off. Karada took her horse back a few paces to gather room to charge. Shouting, she bore down on Balif. He stood awaiting her attack impassively, sword at his side. At the last moment, he raised his empty hands, fingers spread, and intoned two words in his own language. Appleseed stopped and rooted his hoofs to the ground. The stop was so sudden Karada had no time to prepare, and she went flying forward over the horse’s neck. She landed hard at Balif’s feet. By the time her head had cleared, she found herself staring at the point of Balif’s sword.

In spite of the blood trickling down his face from his forehead wound, his expression was calm and his sword was steady.

“Yield,” he said.

“I will not!”

“By my ancestors, you’re stubborn!” He sheathed his sword and extended his hand. “Come on, get up.”

She sullenly refused his help and stood on her own. The standard bearers, flanked by the elite riders from the center of the elf host, quickly surrounded Karada and their commander. One of the elves handed his commander a cloth, which Balif tied around his head to stanch the bleeding.

The older elf, who had a high, domed forehead and thin, unelven whiskers, sat silently on his horse, fingering a long wooden staff studded with colored stones.

“What will you do with the human, my lord?” he asked.

“A good question,” Balif said. One of his retainers found his helmet and offered it to him. Balif tucked the conical bronze helmet under one arm and said, “I could take her back to my lord Silvanos, as a captive.”

“I’d rather die,” Karada spat.

“I thought you would.” Balif sighed and gestured to his soldiers. The ring of javelins surrounding her lowered.

The older elf, his posture deferential, said something to Balif in their own tongue. Balif shook his head, saying, “No, Vedvedsica. I have a better idea.” Then he spoke to Nianki. “I think a better message would be sent to your people if I spared your life and sent you on your way.”

“Not a wise choice,” warned Vedvedsica quickly, all deference gone.

“No one asked you.” The sharp retort shut the elder elf’s mouth and brought satisfied grins to the faces of Balif’s retainers.

“You’re letting me go?” demanded Nianki.

“Just so.”

Karada tore off her bear’s tooth headband and hurled it to the ground. “No! Damn you, a warrior doesn’t let a dangerous enemy go free! Do you think I’m so harmless, I’m not worth killing?”

“On the contrary,” he replied, swinging back onto his horse. “You’ve caused much trouble to my lord Silvanos. Neither my lord nor I wishes to pursue a war against the plainsmen in our territory. By sparing you I send a clear message to your comrades that Silvanos’s rule is just and temperate. You’ll be deprived of your arms and your horse, and you’ll have to leave this province before the next conjunction of the red and white moons. After that time, if you attack subjects or property of my lord Silvanos, you’ll be declared an outlaw. You’ll be hunted down and killed without mercy. Is that clear?”

She did not reply. When the silence lengthened, the elves around her slowly recovered their javelins and broke ranks. Balif, Vedvedsica, and his retainers rode past her, down to the river to relieve the battered elf force there.

*

Line after line of elf warriors rode by Karada, inspecting her with cool indifference. She felt her face burn with impotent fury.

Appleseed was led away, and her spear was taken as a trophy by Balif’s squire. Seething, Karada turned her back on the elf host and walked away, toward the distant mountains.

She followed the trampled grass trail of the plainsmen who’d abandoned her. Before long she came upon a group of her people on foot, led by the towering Pakito.

“Karada! You live! The day isn’t totally lost!” said the giant.

“I live, if I can bear the shame of this day.” Balif hadn’t even left her a sword to fall on. “I’m pleased you made it and led these good men to safety,” she said, clasping Pakito’s burly arm. The remaining plainsmen who’d fought on foot gathered round her. She told them how she’d fought Balif and lost, and how he’d outlawed them all from the province.

“What’ll we do?” asked Targun, one of her oldest followers. “Where do we go?”

“Away,” she said. “We’ve lost, and all we can do is gather our strength and fight another day.”

“You mean we’re not giving up?”

She looked over all that remained of her once-proud band of followers. Tired, sore, bleeding from a handful of superficial cuts, Karada managed to smile in her old, fierce way.

“The land where our ancestors roamed will be the land where our children live,” she declared. “So long as we live, we can rise and fight again. Is that not so?”

“Aye!” Pakito shouted.

“Aye!” echoed the others.

“For now, we’ll go over the mountains,” she said, pointing northwest. “There are no elves there.”